


Persuasion

by CheapLemonIceLolly



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, cats are the worst and I love every single one of them, pet ownership by proxy, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-07 01:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14070276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheapLemonIceLolly/pseuds/CheapLemonIceLolly
Summary: Hockey players don’t get lazy Sundays in any consistent kind of way, so any day off is a good day to sleep in.  Which is why it’s especially annoying to wake up at seven am to a small gray cat tap dancing on your pillow.





	Persuasion

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a lot lately but not finishing anything, so I asked for some fluffy prompts on tumblr a couple of weeks ago and thought I'd post my favourites over here as well. Trying to write a complete story in under 2000 words is hard for me, but good practice!
> 
> From the anon request: "Naz/jvr, established relationship and jvr slowly becoming a naz-level cat parent to jazzy after trying his best to resist the whole time."

Everything about dating Naz is easy. They’ve known each other forever, so there was none of that awkward getting to know you phase in the beginning, just a smooth and steady slide into being, like, an old married couple, which sounds dull but actually is everything James wants out of life. They can chirp each other without anyone getting offended, bicker over whose national team is better without anyone having to spend the night on the couch, they’ve both met each other’s parents a dozen times so that’s not weird, Naz already knows his weird pizza preferences and that he has to fold his socks in a certain, very specific way. It’s pretty perfect. So yeah, everything about dating Naz is easy, except for one thing. 

James is _so_ not a cat person.

Dogs are straightforward. Like, sure they have the impulse control of really large toddlers, but you know where you stand with a dog; as long as you feed them and pay attention to them they reward you with unending, enthusiastic affection and (mostly) eager obedience. Cats are...not like that.

“Shoo,” James says, flapping his hands. “Go on, shoo. Get off the table.”

Jazzy does _not_ get off the table, where animals should definitely not be allowed, just flattens her ears and hisses at him angrily.

“Are you harassing my cat?” Naz calls from the next room. “She can be on the table if she wants, it’s not like we’re using it.”

Jazzy licks her paw delicately, with what James feels is a distinctly mocking attitude. Her tail’s still lashing the table top angrily.

“Pets need boundaries,” he says, frowning, as Naz appears in the dining room doorway. He’s sure he read that somewhere once. Or possibly that was about kids. Naz rolls his eyes at him.

“She’s a _cat_ ,” he says. “She does what she wants, whether you like it or not. And anyway, it’s her house.”

Jazzy flops onto her side and then rolls over, exposing the fuzzy white of her belly and blinking up at them with big dewy eyes. It reminds James of that bit in Shrek when Puss in Boots does the cute cat eyes thing and then beats the shit out of a whole room full of guards. He doesn’t trust her one bit.

“Aw, look,” Naz says besottedly. “She wants to play.”

“No she doesn’t,” James says. “She’s taunting me. If I try and pat her, she’ll probably rip my arm off.”

Naz snorts. “I can’t believe you’re scared of my tiny little cat.”

“I’m not scared, I just have a healthy respect for obvious danger,” he says as Jazzy turns herself upside down and blinks coquettishly at him. 

Naz just sighs.

*

James isn’t sure which is worse, the litter tray in the bathroom or the fact that Jazzy is so fussy she refuses to use it if it hasn’t been cleaned within a couple days. Naz isn’t really a slob - actually he’s weirdly meticulous about personal grooming, for a hockey player - but still the cat litter doesn’t always meet Jazzy’s exacting standards, and James still winds up getting out of the shower to find Jazzy pacing anxiously back and forth on the toilet cistern, like a little kid who really needs to pee.

As soon as he turns the water off she starts yelling at him. It’s amazing so much noise can come from such a tiny pink mouth.

“I’m not your dad,” he tells her firmly, fumbling for a towel (being naked in front of a cat seems weird, somehow). She ignores this, springs onto the floor and starts trying to tangle herself around his wet legs, still yelling at the top of her tiny lungs.

“Al _right_ , christ!” James sighs, “where’s the goddamn cat litter?”

He finds the sack of clean litter and a bunch of trash bags under the sink and changes the litter tray, still dripping wet with a towel around his waist because the cat is not going to stop harassing him until her bathroom is set up to her expectations.

“No thank you?” he says as she sniffs the clean litter suspiciously. She seems to decide it’s acceptable, because she stands in the middle of the tray and stares at James haughtily while he washes his hands, like she’s waiting for him to leave.

“Okay, I’ll give you your privacy,” he says, holding both hands up. “Not that I ever get privacy in the shower but whatever.”

Jazzy does not apologise.

*

Hockey players don’t get lazy Sundays in any consistent kind of way, so any day off is a good day to sleep in. Which is why it’s especially annoying to wake up at seven am to a small gray cat tap dancing on your pillow.

“Dreamer, your _fucking_ cat,” James mumbles into the pillow, hiding his face as Jazzy tries to lick his eyebrow with her sandpapery tongue. Naz just makes a wordless noise of protest and burrows further under the covers.

Fine. The cat’s probably hungry, if her attempts to eat James’ hair are any indication. Swearing under his breath, he heaves himself out of bed and heads for the kitchen, eyes barely open, with Jazzy trotting cheerfully just ahead of him.

He finds the cat food and grabs Jazzy’s little personalised dish off the drying rack next to the sink (it’s got tiny hand-painted jasmine flowers on it, because Naz is ridiculous about his stupid cat), and she weaves around his ankles purring like a machine now that she’s got him doing her bidding. Manipulative little shit. See, this is why dogs are better. Dogs don’t withhold their affection until you do what they want.

But when he sets the dish down on the floor, she makes this kind of sweet little chirruping noise, like she’s saying _thank you_ , and rubs the top of her head against his hand.

“You’re welcome,” he says grudgingly. And then scritches her behind the ears a little, since there’s nobody around to see.

When he gets back to bed, Naz is mysteriously conscious, even though he was too fast asleep to deal with the hungry cat situation earlier. But he’s also warm and soft in this lazy, sleepy kind of way, and he pulls James close under the covers and presses a drowsy kiss against his jaw, so it’s kind of hard to stay mad.

“Best cat dad,” Naz says with a smirk, and James suddenly gets the feeling he’s being manipulated twice over, here.

“Hmph,” he says.

*

When you’re young and new to the NHL it feels like the world is your, like, VIP lounge full of complimentary drinks and bottle service. When you’ve been around for a while and you’ve been dating the same person for ages, and your days of trying to hook up in clubs are far behind you, there’s nothing more inviting after a win than just curling up on the couch and watching a movie.

Sure, the kids would say they’re boring, but James feels like they’ve earned a little boredom.

Naz had a hell of a game, the way he’s been doing a lot lately, and James isn’t sure how much attention he’s actually paying to the tv, curled into James side with his head drooping heavily onto his shoulder. It’s nice. Domestic. They’ve got a blanket pulled over them and everything.

Jazzy pads into the living room and looks up at them cuddling on the couch, her tail making a little question mark behind her.

Silently, James lifts up the edge of the blanket over his lap and raises his eyebrows. With just as little fanfare, Jazzy jumps up onto the couch and makes her way into the space he’s made for her on his knee. She kneads at him consideringly for a moment and then sits down and tucks her feet underneath her, like a little gray loaf.

Naz reaches over and rubs her ears, and she sets up a steady, comfortable purr.

*

It’s always been a mystery to James why Naz insists on all white bedding, given he has a gray cat, but he has to admit they both look good sprawled out on it in the late afternoon sun. Naz is reading a book, legs crossed neatly at the ankles, and Jazzy’s just lying there in a comfortable crescent shape thinking her cat thoughts, and they look like a matched set against the white quilt, all cosy and soft.

James thought there weren’t going to be any surprises in this relationship, but he’s definitely surprised to realise that maybe he’s actually been a cat person the whole time.

“You ever hear that saying,” he says, “about how after a while people start to resemble their pets?”

Naz and Jazzy both look up and fix him with identical, unimpressed stares. Jazzy does a slow blink of feline disdain.

“No,” says Naz. James chuckles.

“Yeah, me neither,” he says, and joins them on the bed, angling his legs carefully to avoid jostling the cat. “Never mind.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @lemonicelolly on tumblr, follow for more soft fluff (actually all the soft fluff ends up here eventually, but there are more gif reblogs and flailing in the tags over there). And if you don't already follow Jazzy Kadri on Instagram, get on that, you won't regret it.


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